


Spotlight

by genee



Category: Bandom, Popslash
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2011-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 04:51:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genee/pseuds/genee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The thing is, Patrick never really pictured himself dating a woman who already had kids, never mind falling for her, never mind that she'd actually be Britney Spears. 'What the fuck just happened?' is a question he's been asking himself a lot lately.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Spotlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frausorge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frausorge/gifts).



> a sort of sequel to [on my radar](http://archiveofourown.org/works/165218). thanks for asking!

Seacrest says, "You know, I knew your boyfriend when he was chubby," and Britney giggles and says, "Ohmygod!" but really, she's horrified on Patrick's behalf. She knew him when he was chubby, too, and she'd fallen for him chubby, and she doesn't even really care that he looks amazing now, although he really does look amazing. So amazing. Mostly she cares that he's happy, and she wishes they could be on tour together, but only because she knows how much she'll miss him. In reality she knows it would be a total disaster.

Anyway, that's what she said on the radio, not the disaster part but the happy part: that he was happy now, that they were happy together. Then Ryan goofed on him for being on a health-kick and gave Britney all the credit for whipping him into shape, which wasn't even a little bit true but she went with it anyway, because what else could she do? Besides, Ryan didn't use Patrick's name on the air, and when she told Patrick about it later he was totally cool with it.

"Yeah, well," Patrick says, the two of them sprawled out on her sofa, her boys all tucked in for the night and Patrick's fingers tracing up and down her arm, her side, her hip. "I actually was chubby then, so, there's that."

"I liked you chubby," she says, quiet, serious. "I like you now."

"I like you, too," Patrick whispers, kissing her shoulder. And then, "But Seacrest doesn't know me at all, so that part was pretty much bullshit."

Britney just laughs, because she really is ridiculously happy, and because only Patrick would be offended by Ryan claiming to know him when he really didn't. Patrick laughs, too. He doesn't say that just a year ago he would have been pissed for real, because it was Pete that Seacrest knew, Pete and Ashley and Patrick hovering somewhere behind them, with his hat and his glasses and his clothes that never quite fit. He doesn't say it, but she knows it's true.

 

#

 

That night's one of her favorites to think about now that she's on tour, and he's on tour, and lots of times the stars just don't seem to line up for them. It was just an ordinary night, but still, she holds on to those moments like she holds on to her boys: close and private and _hers_ , even though she has to share them, too.

 

#

 

Patrick's at the venue fiddling with the soundboard and making everyone crazy. He loves playing these club shows, though, loves how hands on he gets to be, like the old days only a whole hell of a lot better. Still, when his phone rings, Matt says, "Take the call, please, I'm begging you," and drops to his knees and makes a stupid face at him, and Patrick flips him off and answers his phone. He was going to anyway. He recognized the ringtone midway through the first note, and he never lets Britney's calls go to voicemail if he can help it.

It's not Brit, though, it's one of her boys, which is so new it takes Patrick a minute to figure out which one of them it is. They sound so much alike, with their high little voices and the accents they really shouldn't have. Still, Sean is a year older and his voice that much clearer, so when Patrick says, "Hey there, little man," and Sean finally takes a breath, Patrick knows for sure it's him. Jayden is sometimes "big boy" now, but never "little man", and they really aren't shy about correcting him if he gets it wrong.

"I saw y'alls picture in a magazine," Sean says, and from his tone Patrick gets the idea that's what he said to start with. Neither one of the boys has any idea how to start a conversation yet, especially not on the phone.

And apparently, Patrick has no idea, either. Because all he can think of to say is, _What magazine?_ , and also, _Just what kind of picture was this?_ , and neither of those seem like the way to go. So he says, "Uhm, okay," and just waits, but Sean doesn't say anything else, which is pretty rare. Usually once Sean starts talking, he doesn't stop. Patrick tries again: "Do you want to talk about the picture, Seanie?"

"Yeah," he says, and Patrick sort of mentally crosses his fingers and hopes for the best. "Uhm?" Sean says, and then, "Okay, because I can't tell if it's you and mommy in the picture, which I like, or if it's Patrick Stump and Britney Spears, which I guess is okay, but if it's you and Britney Spears—" Sean pauses, and Patrick imagines him scowling, his little hands balling up into fists, "If it's you and Britney Spears in the picture, _I don't like that_ , okay?"

"Okay," Patrick says easily, trying not to think about all the different ways he could screw this up. Mostly he stays out of how Brit handles this shit with her boys – the difference between who she is on stage and who she is at home, and why the crazy paparazzi who follow her all over the place still can't tell the difference - and he has no damn idea what picture Sean's even talking about, but he figures it must be them. "I haven't seen the magazine yet, but your mom's the only girl I've had my picture taken with in a really long time. It might still be Patrick Stump and Britney Spears, though, okay? I won't know until I see it."

"Okay," Sean says, like it's all settled. "That's okay, I guess. Patrick Stump and Britney Spears can get pictures together, I don't care. But I don't want _you_ to have pictures in magazines with anyone but mommy, okay?"

"Not a problem, little man," Patrick tells him, relief washing over him like motown on the radio after a long night on the road, the sun sliding over the horizon, fingers tapping out the beat and who knows how many miles left to go. "Anything else on your mind?"

"Nope," Seanie says, happy now that he's got his business all straightened out. "But I gotta go, okay? I'm not s'pposed to be on the phone."

And that's that. No good-bye or anything, Sean just ends the call, and Patrick stands there for a minute, in some sort of shock. _What the fuck just happened?_ , he thinks, and then someone's hollering for him back at the sound board, and Patrick stuffs his phone in his pocket and tries not to think about how pissed JJ's going to be that Seanie got to call _all by himself, without asking_ , and he didn't even get to say hi.

And again, Patrick thinks, _Holy shit. What the fuck just happened?_

The thing is, Patrick never really pictured himself dating a woman who already had kids, never mind falling for her, never mind that she'd actually turn out to be Britney Spears. _What the fuck just happened?_ is a question he asks himself a lot lately.

 

#

 

Patrick plays to a full house that night, his voice strong and clear and perfect, his dick hard against his thigh, the pulse of the music running through his body like it's his own blood. It's a killer show, and even the girls who hang around afterward just to let him know how much they don't like his solo stuff can't bring him down. Because tonight he fucking _owned_ Patrick Stump, Soul Punk, and he loved every fucking second of it.

 

#

 

Britney doesn't get the story out of Sean until the next afternoon, and by the time she explains _again_ that he's not allowed to use her phone without permission and spells out the consequences in no uncertain terms, which she really hates having to do, it's time to head to the venue. She keeps herself on such a tight schedule on show days that she literally has no time to call Patrick, but more than once she finds herself distracted during the run through.

She texts as soon as she can, _sean's in timeout 4ever. talk later?_ and he texts her back _poor little man! send me the pic?_ and then, _miss you, b._ She sends him the photo, the two of them outside the hotel in Nashville, where they'd had a day and half together a few weeks ago. In the picture they're leaving, and she's just turned to look at him; she's smiling, her hand fluttering between them, his hand on the small of her back. He kissed her right after that, she remembers. Just a quick kiss, but still, she can still feel the way he pulled her close, his thigh between hers, hard and hot, his hands on her skin. She wonders why that picture didn't make it into the magazine, but she doesn't wonder for long. If they got the shot, she knows it'll turn up eventually.

 

#

 

Patrick opens the photo and feels the flush creep up his throat, grateful, suddenly, that he's alone on the bus. He remembers the day it was taken, the way she felt against him, soft and firm and right, god, so right. Nashville had been the closest their tours would come to intersecting for a while, and it still wasn't all that close. He'd driven for hours to meet her there, and he'd had to arrange the whole thing with her dad and her PA, but the time together had been worth it. He remembers every second of those thirty-six hours, even the ones he slept through, sweaty and exhausted and aching for more, Brit curled up beside him, her hand on his shoulder, her breath ghosting into his.

He'd left marks on her he hadn't meant to, sucked bruises into her skin, his hands on her hips, her ass, the back of her neck, his mouth on her throat, her breasts, the inside of her thighs. He could taste her still, feel her move under his mouth, feel her clit swell against his tongue, her body pulsing around his.

She'd left marks on his body, too.

He presses his hand against his collarbone now, sharp under his palm, lovebite faded but he can feel it anyway, his other hand wrapped around his dick, hard and leaking and he barely has a chance to enjoy it before he's coming all over himself, shaking with the intensity of it, biting down hard on his lip to hold the sounds close.

 

#

 

So, okay, she's a little distracted, but she's still a professional, and when the lights go up she puts on a damn good show. Not that she remembers much of it, though everyone says she was totally fierce. Even now, alone in the bedroom she claimed for her own in the suite where they're staying, the boys tucked into their beds and sound asleep, kisses pressed into their cheeks, and her dad flipping channels out on the sofa in the living room, she can feel the energy sparking along her skin, like fireflies on a hot summer night.

It's late when she calls him, and when she hears his voice, low and scratchy, sheets rustling in the background, she knows he's been asleep for a while already. "I didn't know Seanie called you until this afternoon," she says, softly. "I'm sorry about that."

"I'm not," Patrick says, and it's just two words but there's something in the way he sounds that wasn't there before, something that makes her heart race, skip a beat and speed back up again. "Your kids are awesome, Brit," he says, and if he was a little more awake he might think twice about the words swelling in his throat, but he isn't, so she gets to hear them, Patrick's voice a sweet 3am thrum and goosebumps chasing across her skin. "I'm pretty much crazy in love with them, you know that, right? I'm pretty much crazy in love with you."

Britney actually pinches herself, just to make sure she's not dreaming. She has no idea what she did to deserve this man in her life, if it's a reward from the universe for everything she's been through, for the missteps and the dark days or if maybe it's just pure wild luck, bumping into him at Starbucks of all places, the way he smiled and stuttered and his skin seemed to glow along his cheekbones, how her heart fluttered in her chest and she just _knew_ , she just knew right from the start.

"I know," she says, wishing desperately she wasn't clutching a phone in her hand right now, so full of joy she just wants to be able to share it, to touch him, feel his skin and see his eyes, make sure he knows he's not dreaming this, either. "Patrick," she says softly. "Patrick, we're pretty much crazy in love with you, too."

 

 

 

\-- End --


End file.
